


Ghost Of Christmas Past

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Friendship, Holiday, Hurt/Comfort, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-19
Updated: 2006-03-19
Packaged: 2019-02-02 19:15:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12732606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: Christmas in the Infirmary





	Ghost Of Christmas Past

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

Colonel Jack O'Neill had managed to talk the night nurse into getting one of the SF's to retrieve a bag from his bottom desk drawer and sneak it into the infirmary. Once that was accomplished, he waited patiently until the infirmary was quiet before he made his move. He hobbled along slowly and with extreme care. It took every ounce of his Special ops training and the support of his IV pole to travel to Fraiser's office and back to his infirmary bed.

Two hours later, Dr. Janet Frasier walked back into the infirmary. Still looking exhausted even after the nap at her desk, the CMO stared down at him and yawned. The red Santa hat Jack had placed on her head as she had slept at her desk was tilted over her left eye. Dark brown curls wisped around the white trim, while darker circles clouded a face pale with fatigue.

"Nice hat," he quipped.

"You like it, sir?" she said while adjusting it. "Seems an elf left it behind while I was taking a little nap. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

His smile faded as his gaze centered on the bed to his right. "They're wrong, Doc," Jack commented, moving his aching body, searching for a comfortable position.

Fraiser walked to the end of the bed where he lay and picked up his chart. Jack didn't need to see the words written on the paper, he knew what they said. His left ankle was badly sprained, but not broken. His right arm had been severely gashed and was in a sling. The suture count was under one hundred, but his fever was not. He gave Fraiser a grateful smile when she picked up the cloth lying in the basin next to his bed and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The IVs were helping with the fever, but even SG-1's leader needed more than twenty-four hours to feel human again.

Who's wrong, Colonel?" Dr. Frasier asked.

"All of them. Everyone who tells you presents don't matter is full of crap. The best part of Christmas is the presents. Better than the tree. The food. The snow." Jack turned his head to the left then back to right, his gaze encompassing the other three occupied beds in the infirmary this holiday morning. 

Between four days of cold, miserable rain in a crappy, leaking prison hut on P369R7, the pain sticks, heavy-handed Jaffa, the haphazard escape down the tree-covered slopes, more rain, broken bones, and, not to mention, various internal injuries, there wasn't a whole hell of a lot of uninjured skin left on SG1. They had been gauzed, bandaged, plastered, sutured, and adhesive taped back together. 

"Those are the three best Christmas gifts I've ever gotten." Jack glanced up at Fraiser. "Thanks, Doc". Jack settled back, watching, waiting until later to ask when he would be able to take his presents home.

Janet injected the next dose of pain medication into his IV, because she knew without words that he needed it and would never ask. 

"I've got your six, Colonel." Jack smiled in gratitude as she pulled the infirmary chair between his and Daniel's beds, keeping all four beds under her watchful eye. "Merry Christmas, sir," was the last thing he heard before he drifted off to sleep.


End file.
